


so there's three guys in an alley...

by rosethomass



Series: zayn hearts DP [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, self-indulgent bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 21:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6441790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosethomass/pseuds/rosethomass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deadpool meets his favorite sexy young RnB singer in a dark alley and there's some kind of exchange of bodily fluids. It's not as sexy as it sounds. Or maybe it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so there's three guys in an alley...

**Author's Note:**

> look. look i don't know what to say. this is just bullshit. ryan and zayn were flirting on twitter and then tumblr went batshit over zeadpool and look man deadpool is one of my favorite things in this universe and i love zayn too and then sara and i were talking and then i said i might write something and sara said i should and i can never disappoint sara so here it is. here's this shameless self-indulgent crap where wade is a huge useless fucking fanboy and zayn is oddly endeared by this ruthless mercenary like the rest of us
> 
> anyways this takes place in movie-verse where DP is a maybe-future X-Man and zayn is just a singer in the universe where the X-men roam about and he's never actually heard of DP, not like real zayn who is actually a huge fanboy look man i don't know what to tell you this is short and pointless

The club was almost oppressively full, and everything felt like it was pressing down around his skull—the thumping bass from the outside, the buzz of alcohol from the inside, the cluster of people and the nudge of his nicotine craving from all around him. It sent a thrum of exhilaration through him as he realized he had no idea what time it was or how long they’d been here. A girl in a tight dress and too-tall heels brushed against his side, not recognizing him in the dark—or maybe she was just too drunk. He could hear the laughter from his friends, the whooping and shouts and he smiled. Everything was good, but a small breather was more than welcome.

With a gesture to Griff—a tap of his first two fingers to his lips and a nod to the door—he let him know where he was going and his friend nodded back to him, so he slipped away.

Once out the door, Zayn took a deep breath, his lungs prickling with the cold air. It had been raining earlier and the asphalt was damp and riddled with puddles. He took care not to step in them—his shoes were too expensive to ruin—and pulled out a slightly crushed cigarette pack from his back pocket, his Zippo from his jacket pocket, and lit up. The nicotine complemented the alcohol buzz, leaving his head feeling dull and sweet, and the quiet of the outside world complemented the thick bass pumping from beyond the heavy door he’d come through. It was a good night—he was alone for a moment, just taking in the peace, and he felt perfectly content.

Then hurried footsteps started splashing through the puddles towards him.

Zayn looked up, frowning, and watched as some guy in a black tracksuit came rushing around the corner from the street, a panicked look on his face. The guy barely gave him a glance as he zipped past him and Zayn leaned back against the wall, watching him run. For a moment, he wondered if he should be more concerned, because the guy looked _scared_ and something was definitely after him, but he decided not to worry. There were other people on the street, surely. If only one guy was running, then that wasn’t reason to panic.

But then _another_ guy barreled into the alley too, and now Zayn was _definitely_ concerned because this guy was _weird._ He was dressed head to toe in a black and red spandex suit, not an inch of skin to be seen and he had these big sword sheaths sticking out from his back and he was _shouting_.

“Come back here, you squirrelly sack of dicks!”

The first guy let out a cry of fear and pumped his legs faster and Zayn’s head swiveled as the red-and-black guy rushed past him too.

Zayn put the cigarette to his lips and raised an eyebrow as suddenly the second guy skidded to a halt in the middle of the alley, the first guy almost all the way to the end where he would turn another corner onto the other street and be lost. The red-and-black guy pulled out something from his belt and Zayn’s eyes widened when the low light glinted off the object—the guy had pulled out a knife.

***

“Hold all the fucking horses in the fucking stables,” Wade said as he suddenly stopped chasing the massive _asshat_ that had made him run in the first fucking place. “Did I just see who I think I just saw?”

He pulled one of his throwing knives out of his belt and— _duh_ —threw it. It whistled through the air and sank beautifully in the calf of the aforementioned asshat, who fell to the ground with a cry of pain. Wade spun around to look at the guy leaning against the alley wall—short, skinny, buzzed head, wearing clothes that cost more than Wade made in a year probably, smoking a cigarette and looking mildly disturbed—and gasped because _yes he did just fucking see who he thought he just fucking saw._

“Oh my god…oh my _god,_ ” Wade muttered to himself, suddenly insecure. Was his suit clean? Did he have any blood on him? Were his guns all in their correct positions or were they poking out awkwardly? Were his boots laced? Did he smell? Oh _god._ He had to say something; if he left without talking to _Zayn Malik_ —ex-boyband hottie and current RnB megahit—he would stab himself. And when it healed, he’d stab himself _again._

“H-Hi,” he said, coming up to the guy— _Zayn Malik,_ holy shit—and holding out his hand. “Deadpool. Big fan. Big, big fan. Like huge fan. Even from your 1D phase, but like, even more so now. You’re great. You were always my favorite and I always knew you’d be the first to go solo and when you did, it’d be _great_ and, hoo boy, you did not disappoint, Mr. Malik. Congrats on the first album, I’ve listened to it about fifty times in a row.”

He should stop talking, because Zayn looked vaguely frightened. His eyes flashed from Wade’s masked face, to his proffered hand, and down the alley to the guy with the knife sticking out of his calf. With a light shrug, Zayn put his cigarette between his lips and took Wade’s hand, the cigarette bobbing as he mumbled, “Cheers, mate. Nice of you to say. What’d you say your name was?”

God, that _accent._ Wade felt himself go weak at the knees. He was worse than a teenage Directioner. He had to pull himself the fuck together. “Deadpool.”

Zayn took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled the smoke. Little wisps left his lips as he asked, “You an X-Man? Never heard of you.”

“Ha! They wish.” Wade felt himself smiling like a goof. Zayn Malik was _talking to him._ Officially the best night of Wade’s shitty fucking life.

“Uh…bruv,” Zayn muttered, pointing down the alley with his cigarette. Wade looked and the little fucker was crawling away, one hand clutched at his wounded leg as the other dragged his body across the grimy ground.

“Fucking _fuck_.” This fucker was _ruining_ this for him. The fucking asshole. He turned back to Zayn and held up a finger. “Would you mind waiting for a second?”

Zayn considered him for a moment and then just shrugged again, taking another drag of his cigarette. Pleased, Wade stalked up to the guy, grabbed him by the front of his tracksuit and crashed his fist against the fucker’s face. Cartilage crushed under his knuckles and blood spurted over his hand as he broke his nose. Another good punch and the guy went limp, out cold. Wade grabbed his ankle—the one with the knife dug into its calf because he had interrupted the greatest conversation Wade had ever had and would ever had so he fucking _deserved it_ —and dragged him back over to Zayn, who was watching on. His dark brows were furrowed a bit, like he was wondering if he should run away, but he wasn’t bolting, which Wade was grateful and just a bit super-extremely-excited for.

“So, you a bad guy or somethin’?” Zayn asked, flicking the ash off the end. “I don’t think X-Men go around stabbing folk and then punching them out, do they?”

With a grunt, Wade hauled the guy over by the dumpster—he’d deal with him later, after possibly getting Zayn’s number and setting up a brunch date. “Only the cool ones.” He leaned his hand against the grimy wall next to Zayn, the other on his hip, trying to look _cool_ … _nonchalant…super_ _chill and maybe a little bit sexy._ “But I’m not a bad guy, not really—or maybe I am. But I kill other bad guys so I figure that cancels out my badness. Unless you like bad boys, in which case I am the _baddest_ boy around.”

Zayn grinned and let out a little laugh. “You’re weird, mate. What’d this guy do to piss you off, then?”

Wade stretched out his hand to inspect his nails—like someone who was super _cool_ , and _nonchalant_ would do—and then realized he was wearing his fucking _gloves_ so he had to inspect those instead, like a complete _moron._ “I don’t really know. I don’t ask a lot of questions.” He tried to sound casual, like this was super boring, but he was tingly all over. He was barely holding in a hysterical giggle and a couple of excited hops. And if Zayn kept _looking_ at him like that, all interested and curious and smoldering-hazel eyes, as he blew smoke from his perfect little pout, Wade was gonna fucking _swoon_ like a virgin. “I just follow the money, really. He must’ve really pissed someone else off for all the money they’re paying to have him taken out.”

“That’s kinda scary.” But Zayn didn’t look scared, he looked _intrigued_ and not for the first time Wade was glad he’d sewed in some extra padding into the crotch of his suit. “Although, we all gotta make a living somehow, don’t we? And, if I’m honest, I might have one or two people I’d pay to have taken out.”

Wade’s heart leapt and sang like a fucking blue jay on the first day of spring. “For you, Zayn-ie, I’d do it for free. I also take sexual favors as payment, but I’m not saying you _should_ but if you _wanted to,_ I really wouldn’t mind.”

Zayn laughed again—and what a sweet, sweet sound it was—and was about to say something in response when Wade heard a soft clicking noise he’d know in his sleep and his instinct kicked in—and he fucking _launched_ himself at Zayn.

***

There was suddenly two hundred pounds of thick, solid _man_ throwing himself on top of Zayn—shoving him hard against the wall and enveloping him completely. Less than a second later a loud _bang_ echoed through the alley, Deadpool let out a grunt of pain next to his ear, and warm liquid splashed Zayn’s face.

Deadpool was off of him in a flash, reaching behind him and pulling out one of the huge blades from its sheath and flinging it at the man on the ground—who had woken up and was pointing a gun at them. The sword sank into his face with a sickening squelch and Zayn felt his stomach churn like he was going to throw up.

“Zayn!” Deadpool was shrieking now, hands on his shoulders and hauling him up straight. Zayn couldn’t see his face through the mask, but it was still slightly emotive, brows pulled forward in concern. “Oh my god, are you hurt? Did he hit you? I swear to Captain America, if that guy fucking shot you I’ll revive him just to kill him again.”

“’M fine, mate,” Zayn managed to mutter through his shock. Deadpool’s hands were sturdy and tight on his arms, holding him together. He felt a little faint and his hands came up to grip Deadpool’s elbows, the rough fabric somehow comforting under his fingertips. “Just got some blood on me,” he said, and then realized that he _did_ have blood on him…and if it wasn’t _his_ blood then—

“Fuck, man! You’ve been shot!” Zayn’s eyes bugged at the hole in Deadpool’s shoulder. The fucker wasn’t even _whining_ about, wasn’t making a sound. “You gotta get to a hospital!”

“What?” Deadpool looked down at his shoulder, like he hadn’t even realized he’d been shot. “Oh. Don’t worry about it. I’m already healing. Gonna have to patch up the suit, though. _Again._ Half my salary goes into sewing supplies.”

As Zayn watched—and he could still see the wound even in the dim, dirty light of the alley because Deadpool was still _very_ close to him—the muscle and tissue started knitting together, expanding and closing up the gap slowly. “You can heal yourself? Like Wolverine?”

Even through the mask, Zayn could tell the guy was grinning. “ _Exactly_ like Wolverine, my sexy friend. I got my healing factor from him—kinda like a gift. We’re real close, you know. I could get you an autograph if you want.”

Zayn needed a drink. Or a cigarette. With a groan, he realized his had fallen to the ground when Deadpool had tackled him.

“Look, Zayn.” Deadpool cleared his throat awkwardly and Zayn looked up at him, towering over him. “I don’t usually ask for these kinds of things, but considering I did kind of just save your life, I figure I might as well get one out of it. Do you think you could—“

 _Oh, fuck_. Zayn gulped. Up to this point he’d figured the man’s flirting was just innocent and even a bit funny, but he was definitely _not_ a good guy if he went around stabbing people in the fucking skull and killing for money, and he’d mentioned _sexual favors_ right before the unconscious bloke had shot them and if he asked for one right now Zayn wasn’t sure how he could say _no_ considering the guy _had_ just saved his life and maybe it wouldn’t be so bad but _still_ —

“—take a selfie with me?”

Zayn’s shoulders dropped like a popped balloon. “Oh.” He resisted letting out a relieved breath. He’d just started getting himself acclimated to the idea, though, and there was a twinge of disappointment but he was still relieved his first experience with a guy wouldn’t be paying a debt in a grimy alleyway with a bleeding corpse two feet away. “Yeah, mate, of course. I’m still covered in blood though—“

Deadpool actually gave a little skip and let out a happy little laugh at that which was _weird as fuck_ considering the guy had just skewered a guys skull with less than zero hesitation less than two minutes ago. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It works for you. Although you could probably be covered in dog shit and you’d still look drop dead gorgeous.” He pulled out his cellphone from one of his many holsters and unlocked it then came up to sidle up next to Zayn’s side.

“W-Wait,” Zayn frowned. “Don’t you wanna take off the mask? I mean I know you’ve got your secret identity and all, but I promise not to say anything. I owe you my life, after all.”

“Uh.” Deadpool fidgeted. “Well—you know, usually I would say that I’m just so good looking that I don’t wanna make anyone feel insecure, but let’s be real here. You’ve got the voice _and_ the face of an angel, so there’s no way anyone would ever buy that. I mean, your face is just so…” The rough pads of Deadpool’s gloves lightly brushed against Zayn’s cheekbone as he whispered, “ _symmetrical._ ” Then the mercenary cleared his throat and shook himself. “So I’ll honest—my face is pretty fucked up. Like—imagine if a raisin had sex with that ugly dude who was in the band with you, Lucas—Leonard—Laurent—Lois Lane...”

“Louis?”

“Yes! Louis. Louis had sex with a raisin and they had a baby and then they dropped that baby in a vat of acid and that kid grew up and got beat up a lot by the other kids in the playground. Zayn, I am that kid.”

Zayn frowned. “It can’t be so bad. Come on, man, take it off, I promise not to laugh or anything.”

Deadpool sighed. “My desire to do anything you ask is battling very strongly with my need to protect your beautiful eyes from my unworthiness—but if you insist.” He reached up and undid the Velcro at the back and then pulled forward slowly. The first thing Zayn noticed was that his eyes were downcast, fixed on the ground and his brows were furrowed like he was upset and then Zayn noticed—everything else.

“Holy fuck,” Zayn breathed, taking just a half a step back. Deadpool’s face was mottled and scarred and a mess of pink and red—there wasn’t an inch of skin that wasn’t ruined and around his lips it seemed to be so chapped it was cracking and peeling. His deep brown eyes were warm though, and they looked scared, like he thought Zayn was gonna bolt. If he was honest with himself, Zayn had the slight urge to do just that.

“Fuck, man, you weren’t kidding. You are _not_ easy on the eyes.” Deadpool cocked his head, frowning a bit and he looked so shy and nervous that Zayn’s chest tightened. “Don’t worry, mate.” He punched Deadpool lightly on his uninjured shoulder. “I reckon I’m good looking enough for the both of us.”

Deadpool’s horrible face split into a bright grin that was, admittedly, still pretty horrible but made Zayn feel pleased. “That you are, Mr. Malik. That you certainly are. Selfie time?”

Grinning back, Zayn looped his arm around Deadpool’s back and Deadpool took him by the shoulders and they both smiled at the camera. There was a second of a bright flash that left Zayn’s eyes dazed, and then they pulled away as Deadpool examined the picture.

“Aw, _sweet._ ” He looked like an excited little kid in a candy shop. A horribly disfigured little kid. “Thanks, man. Oh! And hey, here.” He reached into yet another holster in his belt and pulled out a red and black business card. “If you decide you want those one or two people taken care of. Or if you wanna go to brunch or whatever.”

Zayn took the card and examined it. There was a number on one side and a logo like Deadpool’s mask on the other, and he pocketed it. “Thanks. But I don’t do brunch.” Deadpool conceded with a little nod, but he looked a bit disappointed, so Zayn said, “But maybe I’ll call you up to get a drink or something, yeah?” When he winked, he could’ve sworn Deadpool did that knee-shaking thing preteen girls did when he did it to them.

“Ye-Yes—Yeah. A drink. Cool. That’s great. Yup. I’d like that.”

Zayn smiled. “My friends might be getting worried, and I gotta wash the blood off my face—I’ll text you.”

Looking too giddy for a grown man, Deadpool half-saluted and nodded. “I’ll be waiting by the phone. Or—just y’know…whatever.” Then he leaned in and pressed his cracked, broken lips against Zayn’s bloody cheek and when he pulled away, he looked entirely too pleased with himself.

With a last nod and a smile, Zayn opened the club door and slipped back inside. After a quick trip to the bathroom to wash the mercenary’s blood off his face, he joined his mates back on the dancefloor, which was still inhumanly packed with people.

As he took a beer from the bartender and a group of girls slipped around him to get to the bathroom, brushing up against his back, Zayn’s mind strayed over to the mouthy mercenary and what he’d be doing. He’d have to do something with the body of the guy he’d killed—maybe he was on his way to deliver it to the person who had hired him. And once he was done with that, he’d be off on another job, to kill some more people. Chasing them and cutting them down with his deadly aim and badass swords. It was terrifying, having socialized with such a ruthless killer—not to mention making plans to socialize with him _some more_ —but it sent a little thrill of adventure down Zayn’s spine. He put his hand in his pocket and rubbed the edge of the business card in there, and smiled into his beer.

***

Up on a rooftop, sitting on the body of the guy he’d skewered, Wade tapped away at his phone. Yes, he had to go collect his bounty, but first he had to change his profile picture on _every social media account he had_ and then send the picture to _every contact in his phone._

Once he had finished, he pocketed his phone and hauled the body over his shoulder and was about to take off when—his phone vibrated.

A buzzing little thrill bloomed in his stomach as he pulled out his phone and read: _save my number yea. and send me the pic :) -z_

“Fucking flying monkeys on a _stick_!” Wade practically squealed. He had to reply one-handed which was hard enough without his excited nerves making his fingers shake, but he managed to reply with a bunch of heart and kissing emojis along with the picture, then saved Zayn’s number.

He had barely pocketed it again when it buzzed once more and with that goofy grin on his face, Wade pulled his phone out again. But it wasn’t Zayn that had texted him, it was Wolverine.

_wade I swear to stab you 50% less if you get me an autograph and also WHY IS HE COVERED IN BLOOD_

Shaking his head with a laugh, Wade sent back a poop emoji, pocketed his phone once more, and took off with his prize slung over his shoulder.

Best night ever.

 


End file.
